The World’s Largest Reality Check

I recently served as a chaperone to a friend’s mid-life crisis mission.  He felt the need to go to one last rave.  Yes, one last beat-thumpin’, hip-grinding, illegal pharmaceutical-infused RAVE.  He bought our tickets and said, “this is going to be WILD! My final THROW DOWN! I’m going CRAZY!”  Allow me to illuminate the highlights.

  • My outfit crisis. I’m 41. What in God’s hell am I going to wear to THAT?  End result: braids, a temporary tattoo from my daughter’s jewelry box and running shoes.  Can you see where this is going?
  • Getting there early to get a good seat.
  • Feeling hugely uncomfortable while standing in line with a bunch of kids basically dressed out for gym class.
  • Getting ushered quickly to the totally empty over-21 lane.
  • Squealing with delight when we picked up our VIP packages: a crappy t-shirt, CD and shutter shades.
  • I run into a girl who is my Facebook friend and she has no idea who I am.
  • We comment on how loud the music is.
  • We take bets on who will be the first one to yawn. Mr. Mid-Life Crisis loses.
  • We complain about the lack of theatrics, specifically the missing ultraviolet Boba Fett.
  • The number of times we checked our phones to see what time it was = I lost count.
  • The number of times I worried about getting roofied = 3.
  • We watched a couple kiss for an hour straight; maybe they were in a contest.
  • When my friend’s, um, cigarettes got confiscated.
  • Yelling at each other the whole way home because we were deaf.
  • Staying deaf until the following Tuesday.
  • Leaving early to beat the traffic.
  • Did I mention I’m 41?
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